


Sitting By The Fire

by Tiofrean



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Flirting, Friendship, M/M, Post-War of the Ring, Romance, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27372538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: They had arrived here with Aragorn a few hours back, Emyn Arnen welcoming them with its usual Ithilien charm. The leaves were all yellow, most of them fallen to the ground, and Faramir was happy to discover that the land hadn’t changed a bit from what he could remember from his days as a ranger.A small vacation, a flirting Damrod and a friendly banter.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Sitting By The Fire

**Author's Note:**

> MermaidSheenaz cast an eye upon it, the remaining mistakes are mine ;) Hannon le, hir nin!

“Say, Faramir, how is the White City treating you?” Damrod asked, inclining his head, watching Faramir intently. The prince smiled, his gaze getting lost in the fire. 

They had arrived here with Aragorn a few hours back, Emyn Arnen welcoming them with its usual Ithilien charm. The leaves were all yellow, most of them fallen to the ground, and Faramir was happy to discover that the land hadn’t changed a bit from what he could remember from his days as a ranger. He had exchanged his freedom for the stifling walls of the Citadel a few years before, following his king to Minas Tirith and staying there, somehow installing himself permanently in the king’s quarters.  It still made him dizzy sometimes to think about how lucky he was, truly. 

“The White City is infinitely better now, my friend,” he answered Damrod’s inquiry, glancing at him. “You know, I think what the city needed… what the  _ people _ needed all along was a true king.”    
_ “People, _ right,” Damrod said, grinning rakishly, his eyes flickering to Aragorn, before his gaze returned to Faramir, who only rolled his eyes. 

The king was seated on the other side of the large bonfire they had set up, a few of Faramir’s friends and fellow rangers sitting among them. It was not an official visit and so, they didn’t have the court with them. Travelling without the whole ado appealed strongly to Aragorn, and when Faramir had suggested they take a few days off and visit Emyn Arnen, the king hadn’t hesitated even for a second. It had taken him approximately fifteen minutes to get ready, throwing on his old, ranger garb and donning his Strider persona, before they had weaved their way into the stables. They had stopped by Imrahil’s quarters on the sixth level, letting him know that he would have to postpone his return to Dol Amroth for a bit and bestowing upon him the duty of keeping the White City standing. It was an easy task - there was peace all around them finally, and Imrahil’s only duty was to keep the Citadel warm and cobweb-free. 

And now here they were, enjoying a late, autumn evening, watching the fire crackling merrily among burning logs, drinking mead and chatting happily with a few occupants of Faramir’s homestead. The prince had built the house before he had gotten together with Aragorn and, not wanting it to go to waste, he had given Damrod a complete rule over it. His friend, however, even though he was free to do as he pleased, had decided to keep it as Faramir had originally intended, choosing only a modest bedroom for himself and a few other rooms for the staff. Faramir’s bedroom, a few guest rooms, and the majority of the house had remained untouched, save for some dusting and general maintenance. It suited Faramir just fine, though - this way,  he had a nice place to take his king to, not grandiose like the mansions awaiting them in other realms, but cozy and familiar.  It was ideal to spend a few nights in, especially on an impromptu vacation in the middle of Gondorian autumn. 

“Really though, how are you, Faramir?” Damrod asked next to him, grabbing a bottle and refiling Faramir’s cup. He shot a look at their king but, noticing that he was rather occupied, describing something animatedly with his hands to three women sitting around him, Damrod decided to wait with pouring him another drink.    
“I’m much better.” Faramir smiled, seeing the women giggle at something Aragorn had said, before their expressions turned to shocked outrage. The king grinned ruefully and nodded empathically, his moving hands suggesting a sword fight. “I think the city has changed… It’s different now, more cheerful.”    
“I bet.” Damrod snickered into his cup, making Faramir poke him in the ribs with his elbow.    
“I have no idea what you mean,” the prince said, trying to look innocent, knowing well that he failed badly at that.    
“Really, captain?” Damrod chuckled. “I bet I couldn’t persuade you to join me tonight like in the old times, could I?” He asked, raising one eyebrow suggestively. 

Faramir spluttered, glancing quickly around, letting his gaze flicker over the king briefly, before he turned back to Damrod. The ranger grinned triumphantly. “I thought not!”   
“I have no idea how you know about this,” Faramir grumbled, but it was clear even in the half-darkness around them that he was fighting a smile. “And I’m not your captain anymore. You have that title now, remember?”   
“Aye, a _prince_ is what you are now, your highness.” Damrod sketched a quick bow, which looked ridiculous, made as it was with him still sitting on a log next to Faramir, holding a cup in one hand and a bottle in the other. Faramir just shook his head.   
“Fool,” he said, good-naturedly, to which Damrod laughed. He raised his cup and toasted Faramir, before he took a few long gulps. 

If the prince thought that would be the end of the topic, he was mistaken, however, because as soon as Damrod was done swallowing, he turned to him again, leaning in conspiratorially.    
“Is he good, really?” It was only because of their long friendship - and the arrangement they’d had as rangers - that the man let himself talk like this.   
“Damrod!” Faramir hissed, scandalized.    
“What? Remember what we did together? You can’t get more filthy than that!”    
“But… it’s the  _ king _ you’re speaking of!” Faramir retorted, glancing at Aragorn across the fire. 

He was busy explaining something to the enraptured women, his focus on the ground between them as he pushed a few twigs around. He looked, for all intents and purposes, as if he was explaining battlefield tactics to them. Faramir wouldn’t be surprised - the three girls were Damrod’s newest lieutenants, advanced rangers and dear friends.    
“Not right now, he’s not. He asked to be titled Strider, remember? And you’ve been rolling around in bed with him for the past couple of years,” Damrod observed dryly. “Now, spill.”    
“Absolutely not.”    
“Is he as good in bed as he is in the field?” The ranger asked, watching Faramir intently, noticing when the prince bit his lip. “He  _ is!” _ Damrod crowed, and Faramir nodded finally, smiling slightly.    
“You have no idea.”    
“Oh this is good! Come on, tell me! I’ve been living here,  _ all alone, _ and you’ve been conquering his majesty all this time! Give me something to think about, Mir, just for old times’ sake!” 

At this, Faramir frowned, tearing his gaze away from the fire upon which he had been gazing, turning instead to Damrod. His friend looked very serious, even with all the alcohol making him too boisterous, and Faramir frowned in concern.    
“Wait… what do you mean  _ alone? _ What happened to that lady of yours?” He asked, curious. Damrod shrugged, looking ahead, his posture sagging a bit.    
“She fell for another warrior. A Rohan fellow.  I swear she loved his horse more than him, but she wouldn’t be swayed…”    
“I’m sorry,” Faramir murmured, leaning in and throwing one arm around Damrod’s shoulders, hugging him like he had so many times before. They had always been best mates, always to be found together, keeping each other safe. Faramir could remember the bird that had caught Damrod’s eye very well, a wee lass, young and beautiful. 

“Doesn’t matter, what’s done is done.” Damrod shrugged, taking a long sip of the mead. “I have seen greater beauty anyway…”   
“Oh?” Faramir pulled away to look at him, taking in the slowly spreading, dreamy smile. “Do tell!”    
“She’s wonderful… Quick witted and funny. And her  _ body...” _ Damrod said, raising his hands and moving them in the air, drawing an hourglass shape with his fingers.    
“Well… sounds like someone worthy of your attention.”    
“Aye! I just need to charm her enough to look twice at me.”    
“You? Charm someone?” Faramir gave him an incredulous look. “My friend! ‘Tis your brawn the girls come for, not your charm!” He said, laughing, making Damrod chuckle.    
“Actually… I have a request.” 

Now that didn’t happen often. Faramir had reminded Damrod many times that they were friends still, even though they were now living in different cities. Their friendship had remained steady, moving from long patrols to letters and written word, but it was as true as ever.    
“Name it,” Faramir prompted, and Damrod glanced up at him briefly, before his eyes went back to observing the fire.    
“The girl… she lives in Minas Tirith. Could you help me arrange a meeting during the Yule festival? I would love to take her with me to the feast…”    
“Of course!” Faramir had no doubt in his mind that he would do anything to help his friend. “Who is she, though? Do I know her?”    
“Oh I think you do, indeed! Her name is Idris, and she works in the Citadel, or so I’ve been told.”    
“Idris!” Faramir cried, his mouth opening in surprise, before he laughed merrily. “Damrod! I can probably even get you a dinner with her! She’s Ioreth’s daughter!” 

The look on Damrod’s face was so eager, that Faramir almost laughed again. His friend looked like a hopeful puppy and, Faramir was sure, if he had had a tail, it would be wagging madly right then and there.    
“If you didn’t have your king now, Mir, I think I’d kiss you!” Damrod said, and Faramir shook his head slightly.    
“Save that for your lady, Damrod,” he teased. He wanted to add more, but the sound of a cleared throat made him look up.    
“I do hope I’m not interrupting,” Aragorn asked, glancing between the two men.    
“By no means,” Damrod answered, getting up, but not before he bestowed a tight hug on Faramir. “I should be turning in anyway. I have an early watch tomorrow.”

As Faramir watched, he gave a deep bow to Aragorn, sent a quick wink Faramir’s way, and turned around, disappearing in the night.    
“Do you want some more mead?” The prince asked, but Aragorn declined him with a polite smile.    
“Not tonight, thank you. I think we should retire,” the king murmured, his eyes glimmering. Faramir could see the mischief in them, his king’s intentions clear as if they had been spoken aloud.    
“And I think you are right about that,” he said, gulping down the remains of his drink and getting up also. 

The walk back to Faramir’s home took them less time than the slow progress through it. The prince was not at fault here, for it was entirely Aragorn’s doing. The king decided to throw all caution to the wind as soon as the heavy door closed behind them, and pressed Faramir into the nearest wall, kissing him deeply.    
“Am I mistaken in thinking you two share some history?” He asked, once they broke apart for a few gulps of air, his eyes set upon Faramir, who licked his lips and shrugged.    
“Old times, old stories,” he summed up, pushing himself away from the wall and directing his steps to his bedroom. The king followed… 

...only to stop him for more kissing after a few seconds, trapping Faramir between the door frame and his body. The next stop was the banister of the stairs leading to the second floor of the house, and the next - the ornate wardrobe Legolas had gifted him upon finishing the construction of the building. The prince laughed quietly, throwing his head back in mirth and giving Aragorn easy access to his throat. The king took the invitation for what it was, lapping up a trail gently over the soft skin, finishing his travel with a sharp bite to Faramir’s ear.    
“Come, my king,” Faramir whispered, tugging him along and into the bedroom. 

Aragorn’s eyes were smoldering as he pushed Faramir down onto the mattress, climbing after him quickly, not bothering to remove his clothes.    
“Tell me, Mir,” he murmured, attaching his mouth to Faramir’s neck once again, hands busy undoing the laces of Faramir’s vest. The heavy leather fell away swiftly, submitting to the king’s will, and Aragorn was able to slip his hands beneath the white shirt underneath it. He hiked it up, not patient enough to remove it completely, before he let his mouth travel lower, over the exposed skin and down, until he was half-kneeling and half-lying between his steward’s thighs.    
“Yes?” Faramir asked, licking his lips and watching the progress. There was something fiery in Aragorn’s gaze, something utterly filthy in him pawing at Faramir’s leggings that sizzled the prince’s brain completely.    
“Were you two lovers?” 

The question was not a serious one, or rather, whatever Faramir said to that, would not weigh on their relationship at all. And the prince knew it well - he grinned rakishly, staring at Aragorn, as he answered with a breathy chuckle.   
“Oh, my king, you have no idea…”   
“Tell me. Late night tumbles in the leaves?” Aragorn prodded, finally conquering the ties of Faramir’s leggings and pushing them down just enough to gain access to his prince’s privates.   
“Late night, early night… Oh _Eru…”_ Faramir moaned softly when he felt an agile tongue slowly moving over his manhood. It still filled him with awe that Aragorn was not only willing to do this kind of act, but that he _enjoyed it so much_ also. “Sometimes even under the bright sun…”   
“Oh?” Aragorn inquired, raising his head and looking at Faramir, who nodded, biting his lip.   
“In the citadel once, too.” 

Aragorn’s eyes flashed and in the next moment, Faramir found himself being positively eaten alive, swallowed down with skill that made his head spin dangerously, while steady hands at his hips kept him pressed down to the mattress. Aragorn’s fingers were harsh, possibly leaving bruises to be examined in the morning, but Faramir couldn’t bring himself to mind them - it was the only thing keeping him from flying off the bed. He cried out and moaned, his own hands clawing at the bedsheets as Aragorn, with a single-minded focus, brought him to the edge and pushed him over it. 

It wasn’t until the world sharpened again to his eyes that Faramir became aware of Aragorn looming over him, watching him intently with a pleased grin on his handsome face.    
“Give me a moment, my king…” Faramir started, but he was promptly shushed, before Aragorn leaned in and kissed him deeply.    
“No need, dear heart. I wouldn’t have lasted anyway,” he muttered a bit sheepishly, before he installed himself next to Faramir, wrapping an arm around him lazily. With a frown, the prince let one of his hands travel down the length of Aragorn’s body, eyes widening when he encountered a rather wet patch at the front of his breeches.    
“Really?” He asked, earning himself a smirk and a thorough, mind-melting kiss.

“What can I say?” Aragorn huffed, once they broke apart. “You are very inspiring, Mir.”   
“Me? Or the idea of me and Damrod? Which is it that appeals to you so, my king?” Faramir knew that he had hit the nail on the head the moment Aragorn hid his face in his neck - his very burning, definitely flushed face.   
“Let it rest, Mir.”   
“Are you sure?” Faramir chuckled, one hand coming up to thread through Aragorn’s hair. “He would probably be amenable to join us, you know?”   
_“Faramir!”_   
“He did ask about me being free earlier, after all.”   
_“No.”_ This time, Aragorn growled, lifting his head up and fixing Faramir with a stare. The prince frowned. 

“I’m not good at sharing, Mir, you know that.” His eyes were boring into Faramir’s in the darkness around them, and he prince found himself licking his lips. There was this wildness in Aragorn, the Man of the North coming out sometimes, asserting dominance like a wolf would with his pack. He nodded.    
“Alright. It was just a thought, my king. And there is no harm in thinking, is there?” Immediately, Aragorn’s eyes softened, one hand coming up to rest on Faramir’s cheek.    
“No, I suppose not,” he agreed, leaning in for a soft kiss, almost as if he wanted to erase the past few minutes with delicate lips and tender tongue. 

When they finally broke apart, Faramir smiled at him tenderly.    
“It wouldn’t work anyway. Damrod has his eyes set on Idris.”    
“Idris?” Aragorn’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.  _ “Our _ Idris?” He asked, incredulous, to which Faramir only laughed.    
“She’s hardly  _ ours,  _ but yes, our Idris.”    
“Hmmm… Is he as good a man as everyone says he is?” The king asked, divesting himself of his undoubtedly stained clothes and getting comfortable on Faramir’s side once again, groping around for a blanket to throw around them. Faramir smirked. 

It was not the first time Aragorn took someone under his wing - he had a tendency to do that, especially with young warriors. He always made sure they received proper training before riding with him and, even though most people considered it good preparation - the king couldn’t ride to battle without skillful warriors at his side - but Faramir knew the reasons were different. He always looked out for his men, wanting to make them as safe as possible. The same applied to Idris, who, even though still cooped up at the Citadel, had been under Aragorn’s protection from the very start. 

“He is very good,” Faramir asked the inquiry. “And may I remind you that you are not Idris’ father?”    
“May as well be, seeing as her father died during the war...” Aragorn sighed dramatically. “She is so young, my dear, I don’t know if Damrod is good for her!” To that, Faramir snickered, turning to his side and looking at him.    
“She is almost twenty, my lord. Maybe for the Dunedain that is very young still, but in Gondor, she should have been married already.”    
“Barbaric!” Aragorn gasped, faking shock. Faramir laughed.    
“Not everyone has the pleasure of getting old before they settle down with someone,” Faramir prodded, hiding his grinning face in Aragorn’s shoulder.    
“Insolent!”    
“Whatever you say, my old and noble king.”    
_ “Outrageous!” _ Aragorn muttered, wrapping both arms around him and hugging him tightly. “I did not hear you complain earlier, but if it is not to your tastes…” He smirked when Faramir groaned.    
“Oh no! Did I say old? I meant  _ experienced and wise, _ my noble king!” 

At that, Aragorn dissolved into giggles, relaxing back into pillows and letting the sleep claim him slowly. In the morning, he would wake up his prince and make love to him before the staff called them for breakfast. And maybe they would go for a walk around Faramir’s beloved forest and become inspired by the nature around them. Aragorn grinned, thinking about Damrod’s patrol tomorrow. He didn’t doubt the man’s skills as a ranger - they would probably need to be very quiet. 


End file.
